A Broken Heart
by astroanna
Summary: My interpretation of where we go after "Wilson's Heart".


House's eyes slowly opened once more, and as he looked over at Cuddy she stirred, her own blue eyes focusing on the older diagnostician. Tightening her hand around his slightly she spoke, her voice quiet and concerned.

"How are you feeling?"

"My head…still feels like I cracked it open. But other than that…I guess you're stuck with me at least a while longer."

Cuddy smiled as she took the pen light next to her and checked House's pupils, her eyes scanning his monitors as she spoke.

"Well, you wouldn't want my life to get boring, would you?"

House did not smile, and his eyes held a despair that sent a thrill of fear through Cuddy's veins.

"I wouldn't mind boring right now."

Cuddy nodded.

"I guess not…hey," Cuddy said, squeezing House's hand once more and looking into his eyes, "talk to me."

House shook his head.

"I don't want to talk."

"Tough," Cuddy said, her voice cutting through the silence, "after everything that's happened you need to."

"What is there to say?"

The blue eyes Cuddy knew so well held unshed tears, which shocked her more than she could have imagined possible.

"My best friend has finally given up on me. He hates me. Congratulate me, Cuddy, I've succeeded in driving away every good thing that's ever come my way."

"House you had better listen to me and really hear what I'm telling you. Wilson is beside himself right now. He's grieving and in pain but he does not hate you. He is still your best friend but you need to do what it takes to keep him in your life."

"What are you talking about?"

Cuddy smiled weakly.

"You're a brilliant diagnostician, House, but at relationships I think we can agree you're not exactly adept. So let me spell it out. It's possible to care for someone, even love them, and still hurt them. That's why Wilson has stood by you all these years."

"But not anymore," House said, the desolation plain in his voice.

"Not right now," Cuddy corrected firmly, "Wilson has a huge heart, House, you know that. But it's broken. It's your job as his best friend to help him put the pieces back together."

House shook his head fearfully.

"I…can't. He won't want to see me-"

"Even if that's true it doesn't matter. He needs you and you need to be there for him whether he wants you there or not."

"Damn it…what am I supposed to say to him?"

Cuddy shrugged.

"How should I know? You're the best friend."

The next night House was standing in front of Wilson's door. He raised his hand to knock, but his palm simply fell silently upon the wood. For a long minute House simply stood there, head resting upon his arm as it lay across the door. Taking a deep, steadying, breath House finally knocked firmly.

"Wilson?" House called softly.

There was silence for several long moments.

"Wilson open up…please."

The door slowly opened and House nearly gasped at the sight of his friend. Wilson's eyes were bloodshot, and he had clearly been crying. He also had the pallor and glazed expression House recognized instantly in a man who had been drinking heavily.

"Please, House, just leave me alone," Wilson said, his voice low and hoarse.

Wilson's desolation seemed to ignite something within House, and he realized that Cuddy was right; he did know what to do.

"Not a chance in hell."

House pushed the door open all the way, slipping past Wilson, who was unable to stop the older man. As House had suspected there was an open bottle of scotch on the coffee table next to a glass. House stepped over to it, picked it up and brought it into the kitchen. Wilson began to follow him, but simply fell onto his couch instead. After pouring the remaining alcohol down the drain House made his way back into the living room where he found Wilson sitting on the couch, staring at his hands. House sat on the chair beside the couch and simply looked at his friend for a moment. The younger man simply looked lost.

"I know you don't want me here, so you don't have to talk. Just listen. You are my best friend. I usually never say or do the right thing but if you believe nothing else I say, believe that. There's only one thing I can say right now and it won't bring her back. It won't make losing her easier. But I have to say it anyway. You loved her and she loved you. You shouldn't have lost her. It's not fair. I don't blame you if you hate me, but I am sorry, Wilson. I'm sorry you lost someone that was so good for you."

Wilson said nothing, but simply continued to stare at his own hands still folded in front of him. House sighed. His worst fear had been realized. His friend had given up. House nodded to himself, resigned.

"That's all I wanted to say. I'll go."

House stood up and made his way slowly to the door. He had almost reached it when Wilson's voice stopped him.

"House."

House stopped, afraid for a moment to turn back. He did, however, turn to look at Wilson. The younger man was finally looking back at him, the brown eyes still filled with pain but at least focused.

"I don't hate you. How could I? You're my best friend, too."

House said nothing, hardly daring to hope.

"I'm just…she's gone, House."

Wilson's face dissolved into anguish, tears sliding down his face, his body shaking with sobs. House made his way next to Wilson on the couch as quickly as he could, placing his arm around the younger man's shoulders.

For several minutes the two simply sat together, House simply letting Wilson vent his pain. Finally Wilson composed himself enough to speak.

"I'm sorry, House," Wilson said softly, avoiding the older man's gaze.

House did not expect to hear Wilson say these words.

"For what?"

"I've been…trying to deal with losing her. I haven't done it very well, clearly."

"Who the hell would?"

Wilson shrugged.

"Still, I should have said thanks."

Wilson looked at House, who was too stunned to speak.

"You did everything I asked. You risked your life. Even when I was dead wrong about the medicine you understood that it wasn't about that. For once you were my best friend above vaunted diagnostician. At least I know that everything that could have been done was done."

Wilson sighed.

"I just…don't know where I go from here."

"You go on," House said firmly, "you go on as the person you've always been. The guy who saw something worthwhile in me. Who sees something worthwhile in everyone."

"How? I don't…I barely remember who I was before I met her. She'd already changed me…for the better."

House smiled.

"I know."

Wilson looked at House, surprised.

"You know?"

"She finally got you to consider yourself every once in a while. You spent every second and every ounce of energy on everyone else until you met her. Once you two got together you relaxed. You kept taking care of everyone else, but you took care of yourself, too."

Wilson smiled weakly.

"That's what she told me once. That I needed to take care of me."

House nodded.

"She was right."

Wilson looked at House carefully for the first time.

"Where did all this come from?"

"All what?"

"House you just sat with me while I cried. You'd never have done that before."

House stopped in his mental tracts, wondering if he should tell Wilson. The younger man seemed to sense his hesitation.

"What is it?"

"She…told me I should live. I figure I better make the most of it."

"Who told you that you should live?"

House did not reply, but the look in his eyes told Wilson everything.

"Don't play with me, House," Wilson said, eyes wide with panic, "not now, I can't take it."

"I'm not playing," House said earnestly, "I'm not. I was…do you really want to hear this?"

"Tell me," Wilson said fervently.

"I was in the coma," House said quietly, "and she was there. I knew it when she died because…she told me."

Wilson's eyes were filled with tears again, his breathing becoming more rapid.

"We were on that…damn bus again but it wasn't bad. It was peaceful, quiet. I asked her if she was dead, and she said yes. Then I asked if I was dead, and she said 'not yet'. She said to me 'what now?' I tell you, Wilson, I wanted to stay."

"Stay?"

"On that bus. I knew, somehow, that if I stayed with her on that bus I'd be…free. No more pain, no more misery."

"But you'd be dead."

House looked at Wilson, the piercing blue gaze reflecting the despair he still felt.

"Exactly."

Wilson shook his head.

"Oh, God, House, no."

"I wanted out, Wilson, I did. But she said…get off the bus."

"I'm glad you did, House," Wilson said quietly.

"Really?"

Wilson nodded.

House smiled in spite of himself.

"She was…so different than how I remember her in life," House said quietly.

"How?"

"She was…totally at peace. God she was…angelic."

Wilson smiled through fresh tears.

"I always saw her that way."

House looked at Wilson again.

"She must have been happy…at the end."

"What do you mean?"

"She was dead. The Amber I knew would rail against that, especially dying in a senseless bus crash. She'd be pissed off, haunting some bus depot somewhere."

Wilson let out a single laugh at the image. He hadn't laughed in days.

"But she helped me, instead," House said, "she was totally okay with moving on."

House paused, realizing that he hadn't asked an extremely important question. He still didn't know what had really happened to Amber.

"What happened to her? When she died? Were you with her?"

"She, um…" Wilson began, pausing to take a deep breath, "she survived for a while on bypass. She said goodbye to the team, and everything."

"And then she said goodbye to you," House said.

Wilson nodded.

"I asked her why she wasn't angry. She said 'that's not the last feeling I want to experience'".

"Then what?"

Wilson spoke quietly, his voice breaking.

"I kissed her. Then I took her off bypass."

House nodded, seeming to understand something.

"That's why she was happy."

"What do you mean?"

"If what I saw wasn't just random neurons firing, then she died really happy. You did that."

A single sob escaped Wilson, and he seemed to shrink within himself once more.

"I miss her, House."

"I know."

A/N: OK, so I've noticed since the finale that the concensus seems to be that House and Wilson's friendship is now doomed after the events in "Wilson's Heart". The above may not be very good, but it's my idea of where the writers are going, generally speaking.

I don't believe that they've spent the last four seasons building a rock solid friendship between these men to see it dissolve. There's a gap between them now, no doubt, but I believe one of them will fight to close it. I also don't think for a second that Wilson hates House. House is simply afraid Wilson hates him.

There are friendships in life that survive trials by fire and come out the other side stronger for it. The writers understand this and are showing us that kind of friendship. At least I hope so, because the alternative isn't good. The alternative is that Wilson follows House into a spiral of depression and resentment. That I don't see happening.


End file.
